


How Long Is Forever?  (Sometimes Just A Second.)

by Old_Friends_Bookends



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Mycroft Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Old_Friends_Bookends/pseuds/Old_Friends_Bookends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Mycroft become the stoic robot that he is  today? </p>
<p>Stages of his life from true love to heart break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thanks For The Memories.

When Mycroft was sixteen he discovered boys. He started to notice little the little things; the way his skin tingled whenever the boys at school brushed past him; the way he would linger just that little while longer in the changimg rooms after physical education; the way girls flirting with him sick to the stomach. Mycroft Edwin Timothy Holmes was happy about the fact that he finally knew who he was. He was inwardly proud to be gay. Of course his parents wouldn't see it that way, not in the society in which they lived. Mother and father were upstanding members of the community, and as such Mycroft was expected to sail through school and get a good job which would not only provide for him, but for the wife and child he was expected to have. Mycroft was created to continue the honourable Holmes family name, he wouldn't be able to do that with a man. 

 

He sighed from his hiding place in the boys shower room and let his hand trail down his body. His stomach was slightly smaller than the few months previous, all his hard work and exercise had been paying off then. He peered through the gap in the door as his hand trailed further down his body. The year twelves were in there after their football training; a bunch of eighteen year olds with nothing on but mud patches marring their skin. Mycroft felt the bulge in his pants and let out a gasp. Yes, he was definitely gay in the tenting of his school trousers had anything to go by. Gently and slowly he rubbed at himself, gasping and moaning at the sensations it was creating. It felt like fireworks had been let off in his mind, beautiful, delightful, sensational; hot beats of sweat were balling along his skin with the concentration it to to not make a sound. The mind numbingly boring conversation that the boys were having didn't bother him either, they were talking about how attractive the teacher's were at the school, rating them out of ten. Mycroft imaginged they were talking about him; saying how they would love to bite the nape of his neck as they took him from behind, how they would whisper sweet nothings to him to help him come down from his blinding orgasm, how they would love him forever. Usually Mycroft didnt believe in sentiment, caring was after all, a chemical reaction, a disadvantage to the losing side. Laughter erupted from the boys as they exited the changing rooms, patting each other on the back after a well played game. It was at that moment that Mycroft came in his trousers, the lights flashed behind his eyes as he leant forwards on the door, panting heavily. Now his hand could feel his sensitive member becoming limp; he could also feel the damp patch on the front of his trousers, but he didnt care. That was the best moment of his life. 

 

Mycroft shuffled out of the room and to his locker for some tissues, he couls taste the metalic clang of iron in his mouth as blood seeped from his lip. Je bit down hard on it to stop himself from moaning and giving away his position. If the football team knew that he watched them, let along got off on the sight, Mycroft's guts would be garters. They would kill him, but that made his little rendezvous even more exciting and enthralling. No doubt that he would need to do that again. As he got slammed into his locker by the school bully Mycroft thanked God that it was the last lesson of the day. He practically ran outside and dived into the back of fathers car. The black eye he recived for insulting the wrong person just days earlier was beginning to fade. He nodded politely at all of fathers questions; 'yes school was fine', 'yes he had homework', 'he got full marks on his English Language mock exam'. Staring out of the window he grinned at the memory of what just happened. Mycroft was finally beginning to feel like himself again.


	2. EverybodyTalks - (It Started With A Whisper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft meets the man of his dreams.

When Mycroft was eighteen he started studying political science at Oxford university. It was his first day and Mycroft was carrying the boxes of books to his room, he was happy, free. This gave him the chance to be who he really was, after all most people 'experimented' at university he was just going to live it up as much as he could before he had to settle down. He was trapped in his thoughts, day dreaming about handsome men stealing him away from his boring little life. The boxes clattered to the floor as someone who was equally engrossed in his own thoughts bumped into Mycroft. Mycroft looked up and felt his heart stutter to a halting stop. This man was perfect, his eyes were a sparkling blue as if they had captured the colour of the sea, his hair glowed yellow reflecting a halo around his head. He was a nameless angel and Mycroft couldn't speak; it was as if his voice had been stolen, like the karma Gods were playing the most cruelist of tricks on him. 

"Hey, sorry do you need a hand?" The nameless man smiled, sending shivers down Mycroft's spine and making his knees feel weak. "M-my room is just... just over there..." Mycroft nooded a few meters down the corridor and smiled back, his voice coming out in shaky, wavering bursts. This man was so handsome and Mycroft was, well Mycroft; he would never match up and now this man probably thought he was an idiot. The tall blonde picked up a few of the boxes, motioning for Mycroft to lead the day; which he did, even if his legs felt like they would give way at any minute. He tried to have small talk with the blonde haired blue eyed man of perfection, luckily he played along until they got to Mycroft's door. "Hey, what's your name. I didn't catch it." Mycroft called out as he twisted the door knob to his room. "Charles" he calls back, "Charles Durden. " smiling the blonde-, Charles turned the corner and disapeared. Once in his room Mycroft sat on the bed and loooked at his time tabled lessons, his professor's name sounded familiar 'Professor Durden, PhD.' He shrugged it off, locked his door and let the images of Charles flood through his mind, gently and slowly getting off to the sound of his voice and the touch of his skin.

Mycroft arrived five minutes early for his first lesson of the year, his cheeks were flushed and his lips swollen from biting them but he was happy. It was cold outside so he had worn his favourite casual jeans and a simple blue jumper. After finding the the perfect spot to sit he shed himself of his coat and sat down, focusing on the collection of books on his desk. He didn't realise that the professor had entered the class; nor had he noticed that said professor's eyes were on him. Mycroft looked up with a polite smile which transformed into a real one as soon as he saw who was taking the class, Charlea just grinned back. This would be a fun class. They just shared the simple silence until a group of unruly, sex crazed teenagers walked through the door. Throughout the lesson, Charles completely ignored Mycroft, which was understandable Mycroft thought. He didn't want to show favourites. The class was easy anyway, Mycroft knew all the answers, he also knew that one day he would be running the nation. His fathers connections and his own knowledge made him a formidable force in the world of politics. Mycroft was the last to leave, he shuffled silently down the steps and towards the door. Thats when Charles appeared form his offfice at the back of the room. He slammed the door in Mycroft's face and pushed him against it. Instantaneously their lips connected, it was heated and sloppy and mismatched but Mycroft loved it, he never wanted it to end. Charles' hand slowly made its way downwards and Mycroft stiffened, yes he had been with men before but he waited a while before touching ensued. He wanted to wait, especially with this angel, the perfection, he professor. Awkwardly, Mycroft took his leave and ran to his own safety, his bedroom.


	3. Oh No -(I Know Exactly Why I Walk And Talk Like A Machine)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is now married, his life isn't as simple as it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this xo.

When Mycroft was twenty four, he was married to the man of his dreams, his career was already taking off, he had everything. So why did it feel like he had nothing? He ran his fingers silently over the grand piano that sat safely tucked away in the nook of the sitting room in the gothic mansion Mycroft now called him. The soft tune it released was like a calling to Mycroft, he had always used music as his escape and right now he needed it more than ever. Charles had finished work hours ago and hadn't called him. Mycroft felt the hair of the back of his neck stand on end at the mentipn of his perfect husband. Ha perfect, that was a joke. Mycroft traced the freshest scar on the inside of his arm and felt his spine bristle, it had only just started to scab over. They were always in places people couldnt see and for that Mycroft was thankful; he didn't want the world knowing that he was a failure as a husband. Silently he began to play, fingertips moving methodically, gracefully over the black and white keys. He was so focued that he didn't hear the door open. 

Charles stumbled drunkenly though the large wooden doors. He tossed his keys into the glass bowl at the side of the door and slumped against the pale white walls, mumbling noises yhat made no sense to the average person. Mycroft tried to blend with the walls, he hated being downstairs when Charles came home, usually he could avoid a fight by pretending to be asleep. Now though, he was desperate for something to eat. The past few days he had been eating only scraps because Charles said he was getting fat. And God forbod Charles be seen with his "pig of a husband on his arm". Mycroft heard footsteps edging closer to him, the thudding of a belt hitting the floor with the metal buckle being dragged along the stone floors. He swallowed thickly and stayed silent as the first blow was struck to his cheek. Then the second. Then the third. Still, Mycroft held onto the meagre packet of crisps he found on his excursion to the kitchen. The only sound he made was the yelp that erupted from him without his permission as Charles grabbed and twisted his wrist. He heard the vicious crack before pain radiated down his arm. But Charles wasn't finished, next he stomped and stomped on Mycroft's fingers until blood began to ooze out of the cuts in his fingers. Charles grunted, "that'll teach you piggy" and waddled his way up to their martial bed. 

Mycroft curled up on the floor in the fetal position, cradling his broken wrist close to his chest. He could feel the beating of his heart in his ears as it slammed relentlessly against the walls of his rib cage. There was shuffling coming from above as Charles was no doubt pacing, ranting and raging about how he had married a beast from the wild; someone who was only good for the slaughter. Mycroft whimpered and tried to fight the wave of tears which were now cascading down his face as his heart was ripped from his body. All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage. He felt weak, broken, as if the ground would swallow him whole. That's what he wanted; to disappear, never to be seen again, ceasing to exist. He sighed shakily and sucked in a deep breath, one by one shutting off every emotion. Removing himself from the world, being a robot. Mycroft Edwin Timothy Holmes was no longer happy about the fact that he finally knew who he was. He couldn't leave, just live on.


	4. Home Sweet, Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's first night alone

When Mycroft was twenty nine, he was single, alone and scared. The divorce papers from Charles had just been signed and Mycroft felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew never to let emotion get the better of him. He also knew, that he would need surveillance on him at all times, not only for his job. Mycroft had just got a promotion, he would be forever telling his brother that it was only a minor position but in truth, Mycroft was well on his way to ruling the nation. He sat alone in his two bedroom flat, the beating on his heart was the only sound. The flat was nice, small and clincical just what he needed. He could see every blind spot, every chance of someone getting in. The little flat in Kensington became his fortress. He was terrified of slepping in case he woke up to an oaf of a man pinning him to the bed by his throat. No, emotions would no longer rule his brain. He was the master of his own fate. That's what he thought until the single knock at the front door made him squeal like a girl. 

"Come on, Myc! I'm freezing out here." Sherlock muttered, pressing his entire body to the door, his coat was pulled tighter around him. Mycroft remembered the times a little Sherlock padded to his room after a nightmare about a fall. He held his little, snivelling, heartbroken brother in his arms until he fell asleep. Mycroft manovered silently and efficiently to the door and gently eased it open, causing Sherlock to fall face first into his brothers arms. Sherlock ley out a giggle and held himself up using Mycroft's arm as support. Mycroft whimpered at the phantom pain that shot through him, "what do you want, Sherlock?" he grumbled and pushed Sherlock aside, bolting the door back shut. Letting out a sigh of relief, he turned back to see his little brother shedding himself of his coat and shoes and scarf. "Saving you from the fall, brother mine. Now, ice cream and bed. Come on?" He outstretched a hand for Mycroft to take, when he didn't Sherlock grabbed his elder brother and led him to the bedroom. 

Mycroft was peaceful, his brother was gently petting his hair and feeding him ice cream. He didnt even realise that he had fallen asleep until he felt Sherlock's arms go limp around him. In his dreamworld he was surrounded by his little brother, all ages all desperate for his attention. Mycroft did everything with his dream version of his brother; they played all the games, did all the experiments. They shared secrets and stories and Mycroft helped Sherlock come to terms being a genius. He taught him how to deal with taunts, how to store away information for a later date, how caring was not an advantage. He felt like he was creating a monster but he didnt care, he finally had his baby brother back. Not once did he dream about his ex husband or the torture he had suffered through. For the first time in a very long while he had slept peacefully; for the first time in a very long time, Mycroft was free.


	5. You And I (A Goldfish Called Greg)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mycroft goes on a daye, with surprising results.

When Mycroft was thirty five, he went on a blind date. It was in the winter, only a few weeks from Christmas. They had agreed to meet in a small, quaint café just on the edge of town; it was the kind of place that Mycroft would enjoy visiting if he had time. Small nooks of the room were used so people could sit, drink coffee and read. He chose a table in the corner so he would have the best vantage point, shrugged of his coat and waited. Five minutes and half a cup of Earl Grey later a tall, handsome greying man walked through the door. Mycroft didn't let himself believe that this was the man for him, but the tall man's chocolate eyes scanned the room and settling on the ghastly red carnation that was set on the table. "Hullo," the man said, his hand shaking slightly as he reached out to pull out the chair. "My names Greg, well Gregory but only my Nan calls me that". Greg chuckled and shed his coat over the back of his chair before sitting down. Mycroft's jaw dropped, he could see every single taut and defined muscle through Greg's checked shirt. "Pleasure to meet you Gregory, my name is Mycroft." He smiled genuinely for the first time in God knows how long, all of his nerves dripping away from him as soon as he heard Greg's silky smooth voice. They stayed until the place was about to close; Mycroft learned that Greg worked for the police, the narcotic divison but he was hoping for a promotion sometime soon, something that Mycroft would secretly be able to help with. He also learnt that Greg was only recently divorced from his cheating ex wife and had three children, two boys and a girl but he was never allowed to see them. Mycroft frowned inwardly at that, he wasn't good with children people just needed to see his relationship with Sherlock to underatand that but, he would try and get this man his kids back.  
Gregory frowned as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He let go of Mycroft's hand and stuffed it into his coat pocket to pull out his work phone. 

Simultaneously, Mycroft's phone chimed with a high pitched, irratating ping, the text alert he had set for his brother for no reason at all. He jumped up and started to mutter apologies as he buttoned uo his coat, too engrossed in what he was doing to realise Greg was doing the same. They shook hands, exchanged numbers and promised to call. Mycroft slipped into the back of his black car and was hastily taken away. Greg meanwhile was sat in the front seat of his car and called into the Yard to tell them of his location in regards to the drugged up man spouting nonsense about the recent string of murders. He drove to the alleyway and heard the faint mumbling of a madman behind a box. Greg's phone took that moment to alert him that he had a message; the young boy scampered away in fear, or at least tried to, Greg caught his arm just in time. Holding him still as he read the message:   
I had a lovely night Gregory; however, I fear that I will have business to attend to over the coming weeks. MH. 

Mycroft sighed and leaned into his seat; the soft leather cradling his stressed, tight muscles. He had just had the best date of his life and now he was about to throw it all away because his little brother had finally been spotted. Sherlock would often go away for weekend benders, he'd spend his time staying in crack dens and getting high. Once he'd sobered up and had enough of all the idiots he had surrounded himself with, he'd text Mycroft his location. Texting was by far one of the best ways Sherlock could rile Mycroft up, and Mycroft had had enough. His little brother needed to get clean. The black, sleek jaguar pulled up, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of derelict buildings and lonely alleyways. Mycroft was too busy looking at the screen of his phone (watching Sherlock's GPS tracker) that he missed the familiar grunt of his name. Glancing up he noticed that not only was his brother looking at him, but said brother was being pulled away by the same devilishly handsome detective that Mycroft had just left after their date. 'It was an experiment! Look at the brother!' Sherlock screeched and squirmed around. Greg sighed and used his radio to call in and check. It turned out DNA analysis had, just that second, concluded that the brother was the perpetrator. Heaving a sigh, Greg patted Sherlock's shoulder while smiling at Mycroft. 'We should do this again sometime', he mumbled and somehow Mycroft didn't think he meant arresting Mycroft's little brother.


End file.
